


Three Little Words

by EllyAvon



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Because of Reasons, Curses, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt Tony Stark, I Love You, M/M, Multi, Paparazzi, Polyamory, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Singing, Steve Feels, Steve is tricky, Steve thinks a lot, Swearing, Team Bonding, Tony Being Tony, established Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, polyglot Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllyAvon/pseuds/EllyAvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts out as a suspicion. Tony definitely loves him, but why doesn't he say it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Infallible in the 71st Hour

Steve was pretty sure the day Tony first told him he loved him was going to be traumatic.

Not that he was upset by the idea of Tony being in love with him, that wasn’t it at all. Actually, that was something he knew down to the core of him. By now, after years of fighting together in every sense of the phrase, living together for nearly two years and dating for about half of that time, the fact that Tony was in love with him was approximately as certain as super-villains’ propensity to attack at the exact wrong moment. But he hadn’t said as much, yet, and Tony wasn’t someone with a fine filter for what he was going to say. If he felt it, he probably said it out loud. So, Steve, being somewhat clever himself, figured that he was saving those words, and that when Tony finally did say them, it would be fairly... intense.

Steve had braced himself for skywriting or a terrifying scavenger hunt or perhaps another sweet but misguided effort to procure him a baseball team. The proclamation would be accompanied, perhaps, with a marriage proposal. And fireworks, goodness knew there would be fireworks. He didn’t expect it in a way that meant he felt he deserved such displays-- like those ladies on the horrible wedding dress show Thor and Clint love. He just knew Tony. It was not going to be subtle. And he was prepared to deal with that, in front of the international and potentially intergalactic community, if need be.

In a lot of ways, although the man who had written the song hadn’t known him from Adam, Steve Rogers was, in fact, The Star Spangled Man with a Plan for most everything.

Except, of course, for this. He had not prepared himself for how it did happen the first time. Honestly, it hadn’t crossed his mind.

It had reached the final hours that Steve could allow Tony to remain in the workshop. Pepper and JARVIS had informed him that in the past, he could go weeks without resurfacing. Spending days awake, fueled by caffeine and expensive (but effective) meal replacement drinks. The past several days had been no different. Something had gone wrong with the navigation system in the quinjet-- of course, every one of them down to Banner had brilliant orienteering skills, and Natasha and Clint could have flown the jet with the windows completely blacked out. But the scramble for maps and compasses had cost them time; had been a panic that Steve knew Tony believed he had caused. Of course, Tony had modified the GPS system on the quinjet. There probably wasn’t much on their quinjet he hadn’t modded, at this point.

And truly, how could Tony have known that SHIELD had needed to block their satellites into safemode? Had anyone even known they had a safemode? Furthermore, how was he supposed to have known how his system couldn’t triangulate with their system when this previously unknown event was happening? You couldn’t plan for literally every eventuality. Again, Man with a Plan.

Steve had attempted to assuage Tony’s guilt with those arguments. Tony, who had JARVIS in damn near everything, SHIELD’s safemode procedures included, replied that he had overlooked it, that it had been right there, that it was his fault and he was going to fix it.

But it was Tony, so on the flight between Washington DC and New York, his goal had gone from fixing the GPS, to improving it, to making it infallible. He talks a mile a minute as he descends into the workshop, the robots converging upon him. Steve isn’t entirely sure what’s involved in making a GPS system infallible (he had only ever heard the word applied to the Pope, honestly) but apparently it has sometime to do with Tony building his own satellite, or so he gathers from the garbled tech-speak Tony mumbles to himself over the mysterious contraption taking shape in the workshop. The only real word anyone can make out over the next few days is “INFALLIBLE” which Tony keeps yelling at apparently random intervals. Steve attempts to console himself with the fact that, though his chosen life partner has some struggles, he is brilliant and giving and really, very handsome.

Now, though, it has been 71 hours and Tony has not slept. Steve isn’t sure why this particular tech-failure has sent him into a manic fit of engineering (he would have to talk to Pepper some more about ‘bipolar,’ which he hears her mutter under her breath on numerous occasions when Tony is at his most exciting. Steve doesn’t think it’s about poles, magnets, or two bears) but he seems particularly determined to complete this project without laying down even once. And 72 hours of no sleep is Steve’s cutoff point. Especially since he went straight to the workshop from a mission.

Tony is brilliant and wily and hard to pin down-- but after more than three days of not sleeping, it’s usually not difficult for Steve to pluck him from the workshop, set him on a soft surface, and pet him on the head until his body does what his mind won’t; namely get some damn sleep. Sometimes it’s that easy; other times it takes a bit of coercion. And if Steve is just a little manipulative and extra-cute and extra-charming during those times, he assumes he’s forgiven.

When he comes down to the workshop to find Tony tinkering half-asleep, sideways, on a workbench, he is almost pleased. He would never have found his way to a bed, but he had wound down on his own, and after only 71 hours! It’s kind of an improvement. Tony spots him in an instant, and jolts up on his bench.

 _“Tesoro,”_ he says almost cheerfully, half-excited, half-asleep, “Come see this, I’m on the line, the line of infinite indefinite infallibility and that is a lot of ins. I am nearly to triple ins.” He was flicking through something on his holoscreen as he keeps going, a mile a minute, “over here,” he says with a disgusted gesture, “Fallible, Clint and Compasses, right over there,” his face changes, glowy and bright and somewhat manic, “right over there, that’s the zone, that’s infallible.” Then his eyes seem to glaze over as he nods at something very slowly and mutters “infallible,” again.

“Marvelous. Question,” Steve says blandly, “If I tell Jarvis to save all of this, will it still be here in twelve hours?”

Tony whips around and looks at him like he’s crazy, “Course it will. Jarvis doesn’t forget things, do you Jay?”

“No sir, in fact, that would be against my protocols.” Jarvis’ voice is calm, and Steve is confident in the knowledge that Jay is on his team. Steve has the rights to shut this whole thing down with a word, but it’s a privilege he’d rather save for a true emergency. In fact, all of the bots are on his side, when it comes to keeping Tony safe and healthy. Which seems odd, but so does reality TV and marshmallows.

Steve pretends to make a very serious face, “And the line? The, um, Triple In Line?” Tony nods, seemingly excited that Steve is picking up on his exciting invented jargon. “Will the line still be there in twelve hours?”

Tony’s face bunches up, one of his eyebrows goes all silly, and then he squints at Steve, and stands up rather unsteadily. “I know what you’re up to, there, mister.”

“Oh?” Steve replies, and gives his best imitation of innocence, which he knows is quite good. He’s Captain America after all.

“Yeah, 72 hours, huh?” He’s swaying a bit on his feet now and looking around as though noticing how long he’s been down here. Steve can see the defeat on his face, he’s not going to fight this afternoon.

“You are a genius.” Steve says quite sincerely, because he means it and because Tony is a sucker for a compliment. “Want some food before I tuck you in?”

Tony shambles up to him and leans his head against his chest and shakes his head no. His limbs start to relax and go limp. When Tony finally does decide to crash, he crashes quickly and hard. It’s kind of his M.O. in life in general, Steve supposes. Steve sweeps him off his feet and he’s nearly completely asleep by the time they’re out of the elevator.

Steve feels a certain sense of preservation for their bed, so he efficiently swaps out Tony’s under-suit outfit for sweatpants and one of his own wildly oversized T shirts. Tony is almost a doll against him, pliant and warm, letting him wipe some of the grease off his face and wash his hands in lava soap. Tony murmurs things as his dark eyelashes flutter. It’s difficult to make anything of his words, some of them seem to be in Italian, but about every fifth word is still infallible. Jarvis brings the lights down (as it is currently 1400 hours in New York City, and a beautiful, sunny day), and settles Tony into their bed. He tucks him under a blanket and strokes his hair as Tony fights yet another losing battle against consciousness.

So prepared was Steve for acrobats and pyrotechnics, that when those three little words slide out of Tony’s mouth in a sweet, quiet, but perfectly coherent and audible sigh, he falls off the side of the bed with a heavy thump that sends their lamp crashing to the floor. The noise only inspires a nonsense grumble from Tony, whose eyes flutter one last time before giving in to sleep. Steve is left with a ridiculous grin on his face and a partner who has no chance of hearing his reply.

There would probably be fireworks next time, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tesoro is Italian for "Treasure," isn't that sweet :)


	2. Tin Can Guillotine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second and third times are just as memorable.

After the first time, Steve was still fairly well braced for a trip to Disneyworld. And fireworks. That is not what happened.

He was pretty sure Tony remembered the second and third times about as well as the first, which was to say, either hazily or not at all. Mostly because of the concussion. Or maybe the blood loss. The severe abdominal trauma? The shattered femur? It was hard to put a finger on it exactly, and Steve tries very hard not to think about that particular time in their lives.

Steve tried not to worry about Tony and the other non-enhanced members of his team. Clint and Natasha were normal people too, probably. Maybe. Clint claims he was born with eyesight that good and even though Natasha used to be Nataliya, he’s pretty sure she’s still got marrow in her bones and blood in her veins. Clint and Natasha’s files concur to these points. Tony, too, is just a normal, if abnormally brilliant, guy in a powerful suit of armor.

The thing about the armor, though, is that it is strong. Very strong. However, if something stronger than it pushes, there’s nothing inside the suit to push back. Sort of an unstoppable force/immovable object problem, except with Tony right in the middle. He knows in his heart of hearts that if the armor gets crushed, there is nothing left of Tony. It’s like steel-toed boots. They might save your toes from being crushed-- or they might get hit so hard they swiftly de-toe your foot. Steve tries not to think of the armor like a guillotine.

But they get in a lot of fights, you see. Lots of arms dealers and gangs and wormholes and super villains and whatever other miscellaneous evil the universe has to throw at them.

One day, they're fighting some horrible purple things that seem to be just on this side of sentient, except that they’re also incredibly explosive and somewhat suicidal. Even though Steve was never in the Pacific theater, he knows the word for this and it’s _kamikaze_. They don’t explode if you kill them, though, which is a plus. So, they shoot to kill, as many and as quickly as possible.

They’re only slightly more dangerous than the usual nonsense the team is up against, Steve figures, as he reminds Iron Man and Hawkeye, again, to cut the chatter on the line. They’re singing a song about purple people eaters and that is just... well, it’s funny but it’s really not the time.

“I have civilians in the parking garage,” Iron Man says, all the joking out of his voice. Steve sees him swoop into the massive concrete structure, and watches about twenty of the purple elf things fly in after him.

The last bystander is just rushing out when one of the little things chooses the exact wrong moment to explode, and inspires the rest of its little gang to do the same. Steve watches in abject horror as the parking garage shudders and collapses. The sound is terrible; all bending girders and concrete, car alarms going off, other explosions from down the street, people screaming, and Tony rattling off a multi-lingual stream of cursing in a panicked voice. Steve doesn’t even realize he’s running, but he’s fairly sure it’s the fastest sprint of his life.

Two worse sounds come in quick succession. First the stream of swear words from Tony goes abruptly silent. Then, Steve, who hears everything, picks it out, something he’s never heard outside the lab. It takes just a minute for his shocked brain to place the sound, but he realizes it’s the quiet groaning the gold titanium alloy the suit is made out of makes when Tony stress tests it. It sends a wave of horror through his brain down into his stomach where it turns into a ball of ice.

Captain America loses his cool and starts ripping through concrete like it’s paper, his leather gloves quickly reduced to scraps, his helmet starts to make him feel claustrophobic and he weaponizes it, taking out a stray alien. Hulk appears and gives Steve what could be considered a friendly shove. It sends him flying about 30 feet back, where he hits a wall and slumps to the ground. Hulk and takes on the digging task with gusto. Steve attempts to bring air back into his lungs after that impact, and stares as his shaking, bloody hands, already healing. Distantly, he can hear Thor and Black Widow smashing and slicing through the very last of the horrifying elf-bomb-minion-things and the sound of Hawkeye’s bow pulling back and releasing in rapid succession. He wants to check in with them but can only stare at the pile of concrete and hear that noise over and over in his head.

It’s minutes, but it feels like hours before he hears Widow call the all clear. It’s only minutes later when Hulk emerges with a growl, and gently sets a gleaming red mess on the ground, just clear of the wreckage. In times on the field, when Captain America is losing his cool, he often likes to do a head count. He used to do it with the Howling Commandos, just to get his bearings. It takes half a second and it’s really very comforting. It’s square one, barely more advanced than a roster. Hulk is fine, if green and trembling is fine. Black Widow is sauntering up to them, only slightly wide-eyed as she stares at their prone teammate. Thor is striding toward them with some soot on his face, but is otherwise intact. Hawkeye drops at least 10 feet off of a fire escape with a soft “hup” and jogs over to them, his quiver nearly empty.

Iron Man is completely still. The exercise is not so comforting, this time around. Just like the one time he tried to do it after Bucky fell from the train. It’s like having asthma again. It’s like being in one of his nightmares, it’s like the Chitauri again. It’s worse now. Captain America gives himself simple instructions, stand, walk, get Tony out.

He makes it to Iron Man about the time everyone else does, but he is the one to kneel and press the release on the visor. He’s surprised, shocked, to see Tony’s lucid brown eyes staring back at him, not just staring, but blinking, tears escaping down either side of his face. _Alive_. The armor around his leg and part of his stomach is caved in horribly but he’s still _alive._

Captain America makes a strange garbled sound that could be Tony’s name, or maybe it’s a curse word or a prayer. Hard to say.

It’s lucky Natasha has her wits about her, remembers that they can get him out of the stupid suit, she’s snapping to JARVIS immediately, and Steve falls back on his hands as the suit makes an attempt to unravel itself. Only parts of it will move, some of it seems too damaged to be removed normally. Tony’s eyes are bright and wide, taking in everything, seeing everything, but he is eerily silent. Steve catches one of his hands once it’s free of the armor, holds it close to his chest. Tony’s breathing is strange and uneven. Medical screams onto the scene, at some point Hulk becomes Banner, the medics are arguing whether they should attempt to load the suit into the ambulance to keep his spine stable.

Blood from somewhere starts leaking from the left foot of the armor. Steve knows this would infuriate Tony. It’s supposed to be fully sealed. A doctor is telling Thor to take off half of the chest plate but leave the middle-- in case the metal is staunching a bleed. Taking it off of him could release a lot more blood and they can’t handle that in the field. Field medics converge around them, start attaching IVs, put a pulse monitor on Tony’s other hand. They’re already talking about surgery prep. An oxygen mask is placed over his mouth.

Through this, Tony says nothing. His face stays mostly still, but tears continue to slide down his temples. He blinks more, and for a brief, crazy moment, Steve wonders if he can’t talk, if he’s trying to do Morse code. He worries that something has happened to his brain, like that SHIELD scientist who was deprived of oxygen and ended up with aphasia; couldn’t talk for weeks, no sentences for months, not fully recovered a full year later. Improved, but never the same.

The portable machines start to beep wildly, and Steve is now barely containing his panic. He looks to Tony, their gazes lock together, and Tony says, in a raw voice that sounds like it hurts, “but, I love you, damn it.” As though they had been arguing about it, and this was the lynchpin of his argument. Steve's eyes well up and he feels his lower lip do something he's unfamiliar with. Tony opens his mouth to speak again, and promptly loses consciousness and most of his vital functions. Steve doesn’t have time to draw the parallel-- Tony didn’t hear him reply the last time, either. He is allowed to come with to medical, shoved out when he’s in for surgery for twelve hours, and let back in to sit, while Tony lays unconscious for six days.

Steve tries, in those six days especially, not to think about the fact that Tony is a perfectly normal human, and is already most of the way to forty and that is not a train that is stopping any time soon. Steve is 27 or 97, depending on how you count. No one knows if he will age normally or not, outside of the ice. He holds Tony’s hand when he wakes up and winces, then he seems to recognize him, scrunches his nose, and slurs out, "ah luh voo” and passes out again. The next time he wakes up, he is happy to see him, but does not say it again, not even back to Steve, when he says it.

Tony spends three horrible weeks awake in the hospital and another month grounded from duty, but he does make a surprisingly good recovery, for his age and heart conditions.


	3. Exclamation Point, Period.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just do your research, okay, journalists?

Steve thinks the fourth time barely counts. After all, he doesn’t say it directly to him. In fact, Steve isn’t even there when he actually says it.

A gossip magazine had run a cover with a badly photoshopped picture of the two of them, and the caption “ _Captain America Loves Iron Man?_ ” Of course, this is old news for most people who follow the Avengers. They’ve never hidden it. They dance together at expensive charity functions, they’re nearly always the first to the scene if the other one is hurt, they’re frequently seen around Manhattan, holding hands, for goodness sake. They’ve never had a press conference or invited people to a lavish engagement gala, but it’s never been a secret, per se.

If it had been, it wasn’t any more. A reporter had somehow actually captured Tony’s attention for long enough to shove the cover in his face and ask “Mr. Stark, what can you tell us about this allegation?”

Steve has seen the footage more times than he’d like to admit, well, “because reasons” as Tony likes to say.

In the video, Tony freezes entirely, snatches away the paper, and stares at it intently. Then he lowers his fancy sunglasses very slowly, looking directly into the camera with fire in his eyes.

“I am livid about this allegation,” he says roughly. Steve remembers the feeling of his heart hurting, the first time he saw the clip, before Tony goes on to say: “Absofuckinglutely livid, what the hell is that question mark doing there?” He tilts his head in a mocking gesture and parrots “ _Captain America Loves Iron Man?_ ” making the inflection go up in a hideous parody of someone asking a question. “What the actual fuck,” he continues, gaining some steam, “it’s entirely wrong. I will have you know that Captain America Loves Iron Man, _period_.” He moves to put his sunglasses back on, and seems to think better of it, then adds: “And you know what? Use this as your next cover, Iron Man Loves Captain America, _exclamation point_.” He can be heard mumbling, “Jee-zus what has happened to journalism, don’t put a question mark, do some research... effing question marks...” as he strides out of the image.

Steve isn’t sure if that counts as fireworks, but he’s got the next issue of that particular magazine framed, as it does, in fact, read, “ _Iron Man Loves Captain America!_ ”

After that, Steve wonders just a little bit why it hasn’t become an everyday sort of thing. After telling the world in so many words, it’s not as though it now merits skywriting and violins? It doesn’t. Tony often seems as though he might be gearing up to say it, but something always stops him. It’s like he can see the pieces grinding in his brain, and every time, something goes just a little wrong. It’s strange because Tony has no problem showering him with a wide and creative variety of affectionate words and terms.

He’s called perfect, gorgeous, a paragon, handsome, darling, sugarpie, lemon drop, dear and his best fella, as well as even stranger ones like lovest, and dearling. Sometimes they’re mind-bogglingly filthy and Steve has to attempt to look up what he’s been called. The affection comes in other languages, as it turns out Tony’s got several under his belt, so if he’s _meine liebling, mio tesoro, mio querido,_ and _mon chouchou_ , well, that’s okay.

He doesn’t get I love you, not in any language, except those four times. And it’s somewhat mysterious.

Steve now tells him he loves him several times a day, and Tony responds with glowing smiles, words of praise and adoration, or by simply giving him extremely thorough kisses. So, Steve has to change his previous assumption. Tony isn’t planning anything-- he’s got a mindblock of some kind. He’s only ever said it under extreme duress. It’s okay, because Steve knows it’s there, knows that’s how Tony feels. He doesn’t push, doesn’t worry about it. Steve’s much simpler when it comes to that, he calls Tony sweetheart. He says I love you in English, even though he’s learned it in several languages-- just so that he can recognize it, if that’s where Tony’s going with this. He doesn’t want to miss it. Now he knows a good pile of ways to say it, _ti amo, te amo, je t’aime, wo ai ni, ich liebe dich, aishiteru_. But it’s several months before he hears it again.


	4. Dying is Weirder Than You Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out way longer than I thought it would be.

As with most things involving Tony, when it rains it certainly pours. Steve is the one who ends up not remembering the next hundred or so times Tony tells him he loves him, because he’s too busy being cursed. Specifically, he's busy hovering near death.

The spell hits him after they’ve already dispatched a terrorist cell trying to blow up the Public Library of all places. They’re walking back to the tower, bantering, as they do. Clint and Natasha are bickering amiably about whether either of them need medical. They both think the other should go, neither of them are willing. Steve’s checked both of them briefly and it’s nothing they can’t handle at the tower, so he lets them fight it out. Natasha threatens to call Fury on Clint. Tony says that seeing Fury is damaging to anyone’s health, physical, mental and otherwise. He volunteers his own first aid services, which is met with a round of half-hearted boos and laughter. Then nominates Banner, who’s being propped up between Steve and Thor, still trembling a little from the Code Green, but chuckling. Steve is just feeling like this is turning out to be an okay day. The sun is just setting and it’s beautiful out. Maybe they’ll order 15 pizzas and play Risk tonight.

Then it hits him in a flash of purple light, and Steve crashes to the pavement, the kevlar, the leather, the shield, even the helmet are all suddenly impossibly heavy. His chest hurts, his hands fall out of the gloves as he presses his hands over his heart, which is alternating between pounding and skipping. He attempts to gain control and take a deep breath and finds that he can’t. He looks up, horrified, and sees his team staring back at him. They seem bigger, taller. He’s never seen them from this particular angle.

It’s their faces, too. He’s never seen Tony’s eyes so wide, never seen Natasha so rattled, never seen Clint look so serious. Thor typically looks pretty puzzled, but never like this, never in a way that implies that he’s terrified. Bruce’s mouth hangs open, his glasses most of the way down his nose. Tony steps seamlessly out of the Iron Man armor and walks to him like he’s in some kind of trance. He reaches out and touches his cheek, his head tilted to the side like Steve’s a brand new mystery. It’s then that he figures it out, he wraps his arms around himself and feels for his now-familiar muscles. They’re completely gone.

He’s had nightmares about this, that one day the serum will suddenly wear off, that his muscle will be gone, that he’ll shrink. His nightmares haven’t forgotten what it feels like to have rheumatic fever, scarlet fever, pneumonia. He hasn’t forgotten the nights being ignored by women and men alike while Bucky and their friends date and schmooze. The loneliness, the rejection. The powerlessness. His thoughts are swirling and his head swims. Tony really likes the way he looks. Really likes the muscles, the stamina, the power. But he’s said before he wouldn’t care.   _Well_ , Steve thinks, as darkness hovers at the edges of his vision _here’s his chance to prove that_.

“Okay.” Tony says rather more loudly than necessary, “Well, okay, this is new.”

“No,” Steve corrects with a wheeze, “This is _old.”_

“Are you, um, is this...?” Bruce starts, indicating what seems left of him, “how you were before?”

Steve thinks that’s a silly question, but he nods all the same. Tilts his head further into Tony’s hand, which is warm and far rougher than he thought it was. Out of nowhere he’s reminded of a song Clint played for him and Thor last week, and manages to say, “will the real Steve Rogers please stand up?”

Clint begins to giggle hysterically, Natasha shakes her head and punches his arm, Thor laughs heartily, jarring Bruce who is still leaning on his shoulder.

Tony’s lip quirks up in a smile, and he offers his hand, hauls him to his feet. Even the boots are too big. Tony, whom he used to tower over, now is just an inch or two taller than he is. He’s still wheezing and shaking, but the tension has gone out of his teammates. That’s helpful. Tony orders the armor away on its own, and throws Steve’s arm over his shoulder. Clint takes up his other side and Natasha sees to helping Thor with Bruce.

“Let’s get these three,” Natasha says, indicating Steve, Tony and Bruce, with a nod, “Back to the tower, then we do some recon, see if we can find out what did this.”

For awhile they’re all sort of lightheartedly surprised by it; nonchalant even. Tony jokes that if they can’t get the muscles back, they can just have Natasha teach him how to be an evil tiny ninja. It earns him a swift kick and an icy stare. But she smiles at Steve and assures him she won't have to, but she would. He's only been big and strong for a few years of his life and as awful as he feels, it's strangely normal to be back in this broken little body. It's not a long walk back to the tower, but by the time he gets there he is shuddering and wheezing.

He’s already feverish by the time he’s in Bruce’s lab. Tony snaps at Jarvis, who at first doesn’t seem to understand that Steve is still Steve The AI catches on quickly and begins scanning, giving them statistics. Steve’s 5’6”, he weighs 104 pounds, his white blood count is low, but increasing quickly, his bronchioli are inflamed, and his temperature is 102.9.  The light-hearted air they've cultivated vanishes in the blink of an eye. Bruce gives him acetaminophen to bring down his fever and starts phoning out to his M. D. friends to get him an inhaler.

He’s throwing up within an hour, and being transported to SHIELD medical an hour after that. It's Tony's idea to bring him there-- he knows something is very wrong. If Tony’s put off by the new/old Steve, it’s impossible to tell. He holds his hand, calls him every pet name he’s ever had, tells lewd jokes, and strokes his hair while he vomits.

The sickness he has is new. Steve only knows it's named after an animal, (a pig? a bird?) and that it's killed hundreds of people already. Mostly children and elders and those with compromised immune systems. Steve basically qualifies for all three. Steve spends most of the next two weeks deteriorating, faster than any treatment can keep up. He never thought he would feel this sick again. He’s alternately hot and cold, his bones ache, his stomach never settles. A parade of doctors and nurses and researchers visit-- take his blood. He gets weaker, becomes unable to move from the bed. Tony is there, looking more ragged than he’s ever been, even after 72 hours in the workshop.

He’s talking, he tells him Bruce has done something he never thought he would do, restarts the research that made him the Hulk, the research he swore off of. He is attempting to recreate Erskine’s formula for him. Make him a super soldier again. Natasha and Clint have gone dark, undercover, trying to find out who’s done this. Thor’s gone to Asgard, to seek the wisdom of Heimdall and his father, to beg the healing powers of his mother. It’s all very touching, and certainly Steve would be touched, if he could stop throwing up.

A priest visits, once, when Tony is actually removed from the room. He doesn’t say much, but reads from the Bible. He prays the rosary over him. It should be comforting, but he feels so much worse afterward. His team knows he goes to Latin Mass every Sunday, he guesses they don’t know it’s because it hasn’t changed, hardly at all. That it’s like going in a time machine. It’s comforting, and he guesses this should be too. The next day, he stops vomiting, but the nausea is immediately replaced by a terrible barking cough and the news that his kidneys are failing.

Later, Tony is there, frustrated, scared. He’s an engineer, he’s Iron Man, he’s rich, he’s famous. Steve understands that the fact that none of that matters in this instance is ripping him apart. He’s on the phone with someone he knows at what’s called the Mayo Clinic. Steve thinks that’s a strange name for a hospital. He’s yelling, he seems to fight the urge to throw his phone when he ends the call.

“I picked the wrong field, blue eyes.” He says, and he looks so sad, so desperate, “I could have been an epidemiologist, a doctor, a virologist. I would have been the best fucking doctor people’d ever seen. You’d be all better, you’d be okay. But I had to build fucking robots.” He laughs somewhat hysterically. “Robots!”

It takes Steve a few moments, between the coughing and wheezing, to point out that Tony’s robots have saved the world and his life, many times over. It calms Tony into sitting again, anyway. They resume their chess game, which is usually quite competitive-- Steve is a brilliant tactician, or so he had been told, and Tony's mind sees everything, can run multiple plans of attack in his head. Now Steve's head swims and he finds himself staring at the sunshine in Tony's hair. They don't finish the game.

That night, Tony sits next to him with his head bowed over Steve’s tiny, frail hand. There's been an explosion in Bruce's lab. The other guy showed up, and it was, as Tony puts it so eloquently, "a shitshow." He asks Tony to have Bruce stop. Steve really hasn't had a chance to think about becoming a super soldier again, he’s really more concerned about making the week. The Captain America business did fine without him for seventy years. It’ll pick right back up if he dies. Tony, though. Tony is a different story. Steve begins to worry about what will happen to Tony if he can't convince his heart to keep beating. He thinks about it before he can't hold onto thoughts any longer. 

He wakes up one afternoon to overhear a conversation. He knows Tony is here because he’s holding his hand, thinks he’s sleeping because he can feel his hair brushing his fingertips. His hearing isn’t super sensitive anymore, but he can hear Natasha’s voice, and Bruce’s. They’re whispering.

“...and the vaccine from Johns Hopkins?” Natasha asks.

“It worked on the U83 virus, but he’s got something else now. Just the flu, we think, and pneumonia, kidney failure, asthma, anemia and a generally weak constitution.” Banner sounds incredibly tired.

“Why...” she asks, then lowers her voice some, “He can hardly keep his head up. Stark isn’t any damn better...”

“Stark’s tough. But I won’t lie to you--”

“I’d know,” Natasha says. Steve can almost hear her lip curling, maybe she’s managing to look a little smug.

“He’s not doing well. He’s not getting any better. He gets weaker and weaker. I think...” he trails off.  Steve squeezes Tony’s hand, Tony squeezes back. Good. They’re both awake. It feels a little sneaky, the closest thing to fun for days.

“What?” she presses.

“I think this body is actually ninety seven years old. It’s deteriorating as though it is. The serum kept him alive through the ice, but now that it’s gone, well, there was damage. And now it’s significant.”

“He’s dying,” she says tonelessly.

Silence. Steve doesn’t know if Bruce nods, or what happens. Natasha makes a foreign little sound, and he assumes the rustling of clothing is them hugging.

“We should leave them sleep,” Bruce says, clearing his throat, lowering his voice yet again. “I wish Tony would sleep on the cot. His back will be destroyed when this is all over.”

Natasha makes that little sound again, and Steve realizes it’s a sniffle. She’s crying. “I think, when this is over, either way, Tony’s not going to care about his back. He’s going to care about Steve.”

“So, business as usual, then,” the good doctor says.

“Yes,” their friend the assassin says, “business as usual.”

They leave, and it seems Tony does the same as Steve, counts to sixty in his head, then opens his eyes.

“Well,” Steve rasps, “I do wish you’d sleep on the damn cot.”

Tony just starts to cry, and Steve uses what strength he has to run his fingers through his hair while he sobs.

The next time he wakes up he can’t move, can’t speak. Breathing is next to impossible and he doesn't know where he's getting the energy to cough, but he does. He’s shuddering and sweating, freezing and then burning in an awful cycle. Tony is there, with a rotation of the rest of the team. Tony is a horrible mess, he’s babbling worse than usual. It takes him several minutes to parse out Tony’s words.

His heart does a little trick that sounds horrifying on the monitors when he realizes that Tony’s doing exactly what Steve prepared for him to do.  

He's telling him that he loves him in every language he knows.

It turns out that number is five; English, Spanish, Italian, French and German. It sounds like all one word, at some point.

 _Iloveyoutiamoteamojet'aimeichliebedich_.

Tony repeats it over and over in a desperate litany. He pauses only to instruct him to breathe, shout at the medical staff and snipe at the team. The team takes it in stride.  They seem to take more care of Tony than of him, which is good. Steve wants him to eat something, sleep, go outside for just five minutes. He can't make his mouth form the words, so he's grateful to his team for doing it for him, even so, Tony refuses.

Steve gets worse. He gains consciousness rarely now. For some reason it’s Clint who explains to him, in a lucid moment, that he coded out very early that morning. The CPR broke 4 of his ribs and cracked another. No wonder his chest hurts worse than usual. The team stops trying to get Tony to leave or rest. He’s moved to a larger, more homey room.  Steve knows it’s because they need more space. They’re keeping vigil. He’s going to die, and soon. 

That evening, Though he’s far beyond being able to eat bread and drink wine, the same priest appears, begins his last rites. Steve's seen it done in the med tent many times. Natasha sings, he's never heard her sing before. It’s sad and beautiful. Thor makes some kind of noise in a language no one understands, Steve's not sure if he's chanting or singing, but it helps him breathe easier, for the moment. Tony, against all odds, says the Hail Mary in perfect, monotonous, liturgical Latin.

 A lucid thought floats through his clouded head in bizarre non sequitur: Tony probably speaks six languages. _I love you_ is the same in Spanish and Latin.  Tony spent several years in a Catholic boarding school. It’s a funny thing to think about, and it distracts him from how cold he feels and how much his lips, of all things, hurt. Six languages. Huh.

They talk to him, in turn, he’s in and out for it; Tony has relinquished his hand for the first time in days so that each Avenger can say a personal goodbye. It's sweet, the parts he can catch. His team, his friends, love him. It makes him feel sad and happy at the same time. He's not really up for more complex emotions like guilt or grief. There's fear, certainly, but no more so than the thousand other times he was sure he was done for. He's been dead before, but it didn't take this long, last time.

He opens his eyes very briefly, sees his team standing there. The lights are off, there are candles. Thor weeps openly, Clint and Natasha are twin statues whose tears slip silently, continuously onto the floor. Bruce is quiet, somber. Tony is calmer than he’s been in days, though. Exhausted, a man beaten into submission. Pale. Steve can't remember what the last thing he said to Tony was and that bothers him.

The priest finishes. Breathing has been a chore for days, but now it seems near to impossible. He wonders how long he can keep willing the breaths to come in and go out. It’s very quiet, except for one strange sound. Steve must be slipping away now, because he thinks the priest is cackling. Dying is weirder than Steve thought it would be.

It’s hard to understand the purple light, and the beginning of a super villain monologue. Even near death, Steve can spot a doom speech at fifty paces. Had he been in his right mind, he’d have told his team they needed this guy alive. It seemed that everyone on the team understood that. However, when they move into action, none of them call it. In a flurry of violence, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Thor, Iron Man and a somehow controlled Bruce Banner attempt to disarm the not-priest-sorcerer at once. It’s not too big of a surprise that he’s killed, almost instantly.

“Fuck.” Bruce says. No one has time to be too shocked.

Then, Steve is dying. He didn’t think it would hurt this much, to be honest. His bones feel like they've all broken at once. His hospital gown, which has bothered him with its scratchiness, now is actively painful, biting at him on the edges. The machines start to beep angrily. He manages to open his eyes just once before the pain takes him under. He sees more than hears Tony tell him he loves him. Then it is blissfully dark.

 

____________________________

 

Something very surprising happens. He wakes up. The hospital bed is tiny, it seems. He can tell he’s not sick anymore, that much is clear. His ribs don't feel cracked, he’s breathing fine, his bones don’t ache. His only problem seems to be the tubes and IVs. And he's thirsty.

He opens his eyes and there is Tony. Tony looks good. He’s clean, he’s relatively unrumpled. He seems to have slept. This is very weird. Steve starts to believe that he’s actually dead, but he opens his mouth anyway.

"Hi, you," he rasps out.

Tony is so startled that he almost knocks over his chair in his excitement. "Hi! Hi, hi hi. How do you feel? What do you need? I got whatever you want," he promises, running a hand down his arm, as he did when he was sick. Steve resists the urge to follow Tony’s hand down his arm with his eyes. He can’t look, not just yet. He might be healthy again, but he is having trouble believing he’s... restored.   

He’s surprised that he can express himself at all, but says, "Water?"

"Yes! Water! Yes! Got that, got that." He brings a straw up to his mouth, it tastes amazing. He's back in the first hospital room, it's sunny. There are red, white and blue bouquets everywhere. Clint and Natasha are curled up asleep on the cot like little puppies.

Tony’s looking at him with his wide, brown eyes. He looks handsome and cheerful.

“I’m back to normal, aren’t I?” He asks carefully, his eyes tilted toward the ceiling.

“Kinda.” Tony says offhandedly, as though it can't possibly matter.

“Kinda?”

“Kinda; you’re all muscley and gigantic again, which is, really, whatever, you have no idea how interested I was in having the upper hand in bed, but hey. Also, you’re a punk and total dork at every size, so, but, two things, ONE, your organs are all better, which I am, for the record, definitely pro. Pro Steve’s Organs Functioning. Me, all over that. TWO, I think you’re happier like this, so, cool.”

“Tony,” Steve interrupts calmly, knowing that Tony could keep going for about 20 more minutes, “What part is ‘kinda’?”

A guilty little look appears on his face, and finally he blurts out: "they think you’ll probably be able to get sick, now. Like, you might catch colds and bugs like the rest of us.”

Steve takes a moment to process that. Having a cold or a fever wouldn't be so bad, if he's back to having a body that can handle anything more than walking at a brisk pace. He takes a shallow breath and carefully looks down at himself.

He’s all there; all pecs and biceps and his feet are nearly over the far edge of the bed. His quadriceps are easily visible under the hospital gown. _Captain America_ , right back where he was.

He looks to Tony, who’s biting his lip. There’s more. He looks at him with the question in his eyes. When he doesn’t fess up, he has to press, “What else?”

Tony’s eyes drop away from him, he seems to think about getting out of the chair, but stays where he is. “It’s stupid, that I didn’t ever think of it before, but, did you know you weren’t aging? You’ve been out of the ice two years and your Cap-Body was still 25. They didn’t tell us. You weren’t, maybe ever, going to get old, or you were aging at a scary-ass glacial pace.”

Steve is quiet for a moment, he pushes himself further up on his pillows. “I suspected,” he whispers. “I didn’t know for sure. Am I... so I’m going to age, now?”

“That’s what they think. You’re tall, you’re big, you’re strong, but you won’t live forever. You’ll get sick, get old, just like a normal human.”

"With you?" He asks quietly.

"Well, I'm already sick and old, but that's why I'm a genius who built himself a tin can to fly around in so I don't have to be weak. Plus I work out!" He gives him a billion-dollar grin. Steve smiles back, and Tony settles in his chair a bit.  “But, yeah, I could do old and sick and weak, more. With you."

“Good.” Steve says, and settles back on his pillow, snagging Tony’s hand to hold. For a moment, they are quiet. “Tony?”

“Mmm?”

“What the hell _happened_?”

Tony smiles and wraps Steve's now much larger hand around his. "So, it starts with this wizard guy..." Tony begins, and Steve closes his eyes to listen to the story. He already knows it has a happy ending.

 

 


	5. Hospital Waiting 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, it's Natasha who has them all waiting nervously in a Hospital.

By the end of that year, Steve has fully accepted that Tony will tell him that he loves him only under extreme duress. Considering who they are and what they do for a living, Steve feels a strange combination of lucky and horrified that he gets to hear it as often as he does. To be honest, he’s just slightly relieved that he won’t have to deal with Tony jumping out of a cake, or chorus girls (not that Steve dislikes chorus girls, they’ve always been very nice to him). It’s nice to know that every time Tony says it, he means it.

That year, after Steve is better, he hears it only once. It’s more than enough.

Of course, it’s in a hospital again. This time they’re watching over Natasha, whose skull was badly cracked by a flying brick. It’s harrowing; even though Widow is arguably the most breakable of all of them, she’s rarely injured. She’s just that good. She’s also careful, something the rest of the team could work on. Steve is going to make her give a seminar, when this is all over. It’s not a terrible idea to institute punishments for injuries, on this team. Maybe just for Barton and Tony.

Steve is standing behind the two way mirror, watching Bruce and Clint hold either of her pale hands. He can hear Thor pacing erratically in the hallway. They’re dirty and tired, there’s a crew of SHIELD agents still downtown cleaning up after the most recent robot uprising. Sometimes, it’s not as much fun as it sounds to be a superhero, Steve thinks.

Natasha looks so small and wan without her halo of red hair. It makes Steve want to find Tony and hold onto him for at least a week.

Tony is currently off dealing with the whole-- Natasha Romanoff doesn’t technically exist issue.

 _Natalie Rushman_ exists, _Nataliya Alianovna Romanova_ exists, but _Agent Natasha Romanoff_ does not. Nor does she have an insurance card or license that any of them can find. The only one who knows how to fix that kind of nonsense is Tony and his veritable army of lawyers. Even Coulson, who insists, Steve can hear when Tony called him earlier, that she should  _exist_ , can't provide any proof of that. So, the army of lawyers it is.

Tony once advised that he has them in ranks, and that they mirror the ranks in the Marines. That idea is both terrifying and marvelously distracting; better than watching Natasha’s face and worrying that it’ll remain still as porcelain forever. Steve’s team leader of a group that seem to believe concussions are fashionable; he knows exactly how horrible traumatic brain injury can be.

Steve picks up on Tony’s clanking steps in the hallway. Hears the terse exchange between Tony and Thor,

_“Changes?”_

_“None. She sleeps still.”_

_“Cap?”_

_“In the mirror room. The matter of the... insurance?”_ Thor asks tentatively. Steve almost laughs. Thor understands most things Midgardian, except insurance, which he believes to be a form of gambling against one’s own propensity to become ill. The weird part is that he’s kind of right.

 _“Fuck insurance. I gave them my black card.”_ Tony spits. _“She’s my Jane Doe until then, apparently. Good to know the medical community is fine with me bringing in bashed up ladies without identities, no questions asked. That’s messed up, isn’t it? Sometimes money shouldn’t buy everything.”_

_“Well said, friend Tony.”_

Steve hears what can only be a mutual manful shoulder grip, and the clanging steps advancing.

Tony stalks into the room, tosses a bag down on the couch, and comes to stand by him at the glass. He slides his hand into his. They both stare at the tableau through the glass.

“She’ll be okay?” Tony asks, even though Steve can’t possibly know any better than he does.

“She’ll be okay,” Steve says. She’s only been unconscious for 4 hours. Only. "They’ll take good care of her." He nods to the window, where Bruce and Clint have stretched their hands across the middle of the bed, have laced their fingers together, making a little triangle of support.

Steve's never been 100% on exactly how the whole Romanoff/Banner/Barton/Probably Coulson Sometimes situation works, but he’s not concerned about specifics. Steve only knows that some mornings, Bruce comes out of Barton’s room. Sometimes Natasha comes out of Bruce’s room, other times she comes out of Clint's room. One morning, Natasha retrieved 3 cups of coffee from the kitchen and flitted back down the hall. One very strange day it was Coulson who appeared, snagged the entire pot of coffee, gave him a perfunctory nod, and disappeared again. If they wanted it to be a secret, he’s certain he wouldn’t have even these meager clues to piece together.

He just wants them to be happy, after all, and if nothing else they seem to be so. He has no idea if some of them are together or if all of them are together. Doesn’t matter. He's never been more glad that none of them are alone.

"We’ll all take good care of her.” Steve assures; he’s certain of that, at least. He would be there himself, will be, if they need him.

“Mmm.” Tony says. He sidles closer and sighs again. Runs his other hand through his already-wild hair. Parts of it are flattened down from the helmet, most of the rest of it sticks straight up, as though he’s been electrified. He looks silly, with his hair askew and wearing only the pants of the armor for whatever reason. He leans his temple against Steve’s bicep. Steve does the only thing that makes sense, which is to lean down and plant a kiss in Tony’s hair.

Tony untangles himself, steps out of the bottom half of the armor and flops down on the couch. Then, he flicks his tablet out and challenges him to a game of chess with a single raised eyebrow.

As harrowing as it is, as terrified as he is that Natasha won’t wake up, this is not the Avengers’ first go at hospital-waiting. They’re slowly learning delicate balance between hovering, going insane, and being supportively available. One of the things that they’ve learned is that staring at whoever the patient is does not improve anyone’s predicament. Staying present but occupied is a big step in being excellent hospital-waiting-friends. Steve takes a place on the couch next to Tony and slings an arm around him.

“Bruce’ll need coffee in about half an hour,” Tony notes, as he frowns at Steve’s first move.

“Clint will need to be sedated if he’s going to sleep,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

“On it,” Tony says, “We’ll drug a Mountain Dew in about eight hours. That man can’t resist that shit. Even _I_ don’t drink it, you know.”

“Won’t he notice?” Steve says with a raised eyebrow. Clint’s excellent at spotting something off and probably also knows what all of the most common knockout drugs taste and smell like.

“Notice something that’s not Nat? Not a chance in hell.” He smirks just a little as he takes one of Steve’s pawns.

“Good point.” Steve says, “Why didn’t they drug you when I was sick?”

Tony seems to contemplate his answer, then makes a face like, why not, and says, “I would have had to be accepting any food or beverage for them to drug me without a shot.” He holds up placating hands as Steve opens his mouth to be angry with him, “And I slept a lot more than you think. I fell asleep in that horrible chair all the damn time.” Steve raises a skeptical eyebrow, and Tony only smiles in a soft, quiet way that Steve knows very few people get to see. He waves his arm to the mirror, “These jerks? They would have drugged me if they needed to, you know that. They've drugged me for less. Your move.”

Well, fair enough. Steve tries to forget that Natasha is fighting for her life 15 feet away, and concentrates on building a strategy to capture Tony's king.

____________________

Natasha wakes abruptly six hours later. She jolts, then goes very still. Tony tosses his phone away and they both go to stand right up next to the glass.

Her bright green eyes are wild and unseeing for a long while. She breathes in a way that indicates she’s both hyperventilating and forcing herself to take deep breaths. Her eyes flick to the heart rate monitor, he can practically see her make the connection. The monitor stills for a long moment, then restarts at an unnervingly normal cadence. It’s morbidly fascinating. It’s like she’s finding all of the damaged pieces of herself and righting them one by one.

Clint nods to Bruce, and they carefully let go of her hands. Steve watches Bruce watching Clint watching Natasha. It’s almost guaranteed Clint’s been in this exact position before; knows what Natasha will need. Bruce will take his cues from Clint, then, it seems.

Steve holds Tony’s hand tighter than is probably necessary while he watches Natasha’s trembling hand reach up and touch the bandage at her head, grope for her hair. If she's upset about finding nothing, it doesn't show on her face. There's a moment of quiet, and she looks decidedly spaced out, catatonic.

Then, she grits her teeth. Steve can’t imagine what she’s going to do next. He’s seen this look on her face once before, when she threw a dislocated shoulder back into her socket. She doesn’t have any injuries like that today.

This time, she swallows visibly and makes eye contact with Clint. He smiles at her, Steve can tell. She only gives him the same hard, blank, stare.

Clint seems unperturbed, unafraid, and he reaches out and runs his thumb over her cheek. He’s still got his purplish glasses pushed up on his head, his hair every which way. But he’s _so glad_ , Steve can tell, _so so glad_ to see Natasha awake. He’s not afraid of anything she might try to do to him in this state. Steve can barely make out that his lips are moving. He's calmly repeating something. It could be a code; Steve doesn’t know. He can hear the sounds clearly, but it means nothing to him. It doesn't sound Russian.

Her eyes sweep the room and she takes in the sight of them, Clint and Bruce. Takes just a second to stare directly at the mirror before turning back to Clint.

She seems to realize whose care she’s in, realize where she is; that she's safe. She falls back almost limp on her pillows, her eyes welling up with tears. Steve’s not sure if it’s pain or relief. Tony fidgets next to him, and he wriggles his fingers out of their hand-hold to wrap an arm around his waist, then laces them together again at Tony’s side.

“ _Mne bol’no_ ,” she says. Steve can only barely hear. His grasp of Russian only extends far enough to know whether Natasha is swearing or cheering.

“I know, _Talya_ , I know it hurts." Clint says, "It’s going to be okay.”

"We can turn up your drip, now that you're awake." Bruce assures, pressing the call nurse button repeatedly.

" _Moi volosy,_ " she sighs out. It's frustrating to be able to hear and not understand, Steve thinks. Whatever she’s said, she’s joking, in that way that people use to lighten a heavy mood.

Tony doesn’t seem to mind not understanding, or maybe he can’t hear it at all. He’s all tearful brown eyes and hopeful trembling.

Bruce looks puzzled, Clint gives her a smile for her joke, "Can you do English, for Bruce?" he prompts, touching her face reverently.

Natasha seems to chew on her tongue for a moment, then she says "Yes, of course," in her usual, perfect, unaccented English, “What hit me?”

“Brick,” Bruce supplies. She turns her head to him with effort and smiles at him. She upturns her palms, and in an instant, Clint and Bruce have each of her hands again. She smiles a tired smile, and closes her eyes, seeming to fall into sleep.

For a moment, everyone seems to relax; even the hospital lights don't feel as harsh and white, Steve thinks. He starts to consider going to find a doctor, to see how her prognosis has changed now that they know she's concious and fully verbal. 

Then, out of nowhere, Tony says, “I love you, you know,” in a sparse whisper.

Steve's breath catches. He gives his hand a little squeeze, enjoys the warm feeling that floods his chest.

“I know,” he replies quietly. Presses two kisses into his hair. “I love you too.”

It’s the first time they’ve ever been able to do the full exchange, Steve realizes.

Even if he’ll never be able to predict when he hears it, Steve knows he will always hear it when he needs to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the moral of the story is, Cap and Tony are in love, I can't decide who to ship in the rest of the Avengers, so hooray for Polyamory!
> 
> My Russian is beyond the land of atrocious and into the land of the non-existent. Google translate helped me come up for the phrases below,
> 
> Mne bol'no -- hopefully means "It hurts."  
> Moi volosy -- hopefully means "My hair."  
> Talya -- Actually, definitely is a nickname for "Nataliya."
> 
> Thank you so much again for reading and for making it to the end of this little saga.


End file.
